This is me begging.
Please, for the love of all that is holy, get this funded.
Or, if you prefer to skip the foreplay…
Flame rains on a field of ice.
Cities pop like captured lice.
Mercy killing was too nice;
Ragnarok has come.
Fenrir’s fang finds purchase low
Heimdal’s blood steams from its pool
Odin’s eye a feast for crows;
Ragnarok, the anti-yule.
Sif is mangled, tangle of hair and bone
Betraying where once stood perfection
In these halls of Asgaard. Home.
Ragnarok, the Last Rejection.
Even Frey might gently weep
O’er his sister, lost in the Eternal sleep
As we’ve sown, the Giants reap
Ragnarok, our worlds undone.
A friend of mine on social media has been treading much the same murky water I have, and here’s a breakdown of one of his discoveries.
I
A
M
W
H
Y
Visual top to bottom palindrome. Freaky ain’t it?
Lemme know what you think! Have I found the purveyor of the patient paradigm?
You lock on target, but missile insist;
You blow one more gas kit, I’ll cease to exist.
So thus I request by the rite of rhyme’s line
That you find your cool before I lose mine.
Every last outlet insists I’m “the Man”,
The magical tyrant born of his own plan.
Yet what y’all propose has the force of a joke;
You first raise the aurochs, and THEN build the yoke.
You want your Emperor? Too fucking bad.
The last Cinquinnatus will not be thus had.
You want a Ruler who knows what’s best?
You contain two, in your skull and your chest.
They rarely agree, but that’s where you come in.
Each offers an angle, your soul gives them spin.
Finding your way is one Hell of a ride,
But you’ll find the truth where worlds collide.
Your had your Hero for some six thousand years.
You bitched and you moaned through your crocodile tears.
You claim you’re the equal of all that I AM?
Then do my part yourselves, ladies. God damn.
Your municipalities became munitions.
Your drive to luxuriate became your ambition.
A painted mask became your face.
The victim role became your place.
All the while you duck the blame
For “choices made while ditzy dame”.
The inverse of “driving while black”.
‘Victims’ who half the time launched the attack.
I’ve had enough. I’ll play support.
You steer our world-ship into port.
You take command. You plan the assault.
So every missed milestone can be YOUR fault.
The knees of the bees as they dance in the breeze
In the scintillate shade of the sycamore trees,
The rays on the dew drops, their shine on the leaves…
Still not half the beauty in her when she grieves.
First hints of dawn on a gossamer cloud,
A shoreline so silent the tide sings aloud,
Sun rising splendid on gentle wave crests…
They pale to the light in her eyes when she jests.
Gardens of lavender, tulip and rose
Reflected, resplendent, in yon stream and brook
under boughs of luxuriant pine , to this nose?
All rank next to the scent of her, stale and forsook.
Voracious, voluminous, the sands of time flow on
Eternity entangled in the narrow glass of now
I look upon the loves, those here or not yet here or gone
I wonder at the delicate deliciousness of how
It is my faith, my heart, my breath that we shall meet again
It is my life, this catechism, this truth that rules the clock
That we are one, together, whole. Women, children, men.
To buy one’s own humanity, one must stop first, take stock.
As I look upon the wayward steps that led me here,
Again I marvel at the perfect wholeness of our days.
Furtive glances cachet for another world to steer
Into conversations that will leave us all, by endless grace, amazed.
– – – – –
For Sam, and all those we have lost. May they be at peace until we join them, and in eternal joy thereafter.
Thank you all for your support of the Davidiclineage blog. I’ve entered a new phase of my life, one whose hallmark is self acceptance. To mark this occasion, I officially close the first segment of the blog.
Many thanks to the fellow bloggers who have made the growth I have experienced possible; Simply Stella, David Redpath, Erroneous Choices, Little Fears, Scribbler’s Arena, Dracul Van Helsing and of course Interdimensional Refugee to name a few of the most notable.
Extra special thanks to Celia Hales of Prayers to the Cosmos for honest and unblemished faith. Your prayers have helped greatly in teaching me what it means to humble myself before God.
As you were, friends.
Dave
My word processor might be shot
I take in sharp, direct commands
I level gaze and measure speech
I keep my own rage well in hand.
Seems the rage is global, now;
The ever present other-blame
The working up a hateful row,
To leave the blood and timelines stained.
Calling on the battle spirits carved into the WORD
I offer songs of peace to sell a land, a time, a home…
Seconding myself by ancient rites of Sisterhood
I call my love my own, and damn the breaking of the bone.
 | Stella on Comparisons That Fail |
 | davidiclineage on Reticular Rhetoric |
| Stella on Reticular Rhetoric |
 | David Redpath on Comparisons That Fail |
 | Kalliope on Quan’s Gift |
